


the second type of gun

by ArtsyAfrodite



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Drabble, Gallavich, Hospitalization, Love, M/M, post 4x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:43:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyAfrodite/pseuds/ArtsyAfrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t always know there were two types of guns in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the second type of gun

**Author's Note:**

> Something short and sweet. I kept seeing Mickey shooting that gun from the promo, and this happened...

He didn’t always know there were two types of guns in his life.  The first type, his metal, his heat, whether it was an M16, AK47 or Glock 22, were constantly locked.  

His guns were always loaded, but he came without ammunition this time.  _Defenseless_.  

Killing pain was never easy – especially when there was Ian involved.  Mickey knew pain, it never surprised him.  But it was when it exceeded fists and bruises, becoming the kind you couldn’t see that it startled him.  It was when it became the kind that took Ian away and locked him in a hospital that it hurt worse than two gunshot wounds.  So shoot him a third time – he’d take the bullet with a smile.  _Happily_.  At least that type of hurt was predictable.

_Be strong, don’t let him see you wounded._ But even the pep talk he gave himself didn’t prepare him for what he saw – a promise stolen from his very lips.  _I can take care of him._

“Don’t go.”

Mickey caught Ian by his eyes, wider than normal, but shut so tight.  His shirt was yellow, bright, but he couldn’t have been any further from the sun.  His hair was vibrantly red, but the fire was always inside.  Mickey tightened his jaw, sure to clamp down on any sign of becoming undone.  “But I have to, eventually,” he responded.

“I hate it here,” Ian said as he looked away, “but apparently _here_ will make me better.”  Mickey grew silent, not furthering a conversation he knew would just end in a revisiting of his failure.  He’d promised – fucking promised.  There were no words that could make up for that.  Ian immediately picked up on his boyfriend silently beating himself up and did his best to offer him the assurance he needed.  Deserved.  “You’re still taking care of me ya know,” Ian said reassuringly.

Mickey had come there to make sure he was ok.  To comfort him.  Yet here Ian was, doing this for him.  “How?” Mickey asked, because he couldn’t see it.

“Just by being here,” Ian whispered into Mickey’s neck as he rested his head on his shoulder.  It was right then he was hit for the third time.

He was unarmed around Ian.  Susceptible.  Open.  And as he propped himself against the brick wall behind the hospital, rapidly becoming undone, his breathing became nearly impossible because one red head was in his lungs now.  It was then he also realized that Ian’s aim was impeccable.

And _love_ was the second type of gun. 

Ready – aim – _fire_.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to the song "Unarmed" by Mariah McManus. I kept seeing Mickey shooting that damn gun and my mind took over after that, all the while nearly sobbing about my babies to this song. This is shorter than what I normally do, but I hope you enjoyes this drabble. :)


End file.
